


Not truly broken

by EllieStormfound



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Ships It, geralt cares about his bard, geralt is more perceptive than jaskier gives him credit for, jaskier is too nosy, mention of yen, no beta we die like witchers, nosy Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26135923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieStormfound/pseuds/EllieStormfound
Summary: He was explicitly told not to touch Geralt things, but when has this ever stopped Jaskier? He finds something shiny in Geralt's bags and when he touches it, it crumples to dust... what is he going to do? And what is Geralt going to do?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 118





	Not truly broken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hailhailsatan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hailhailsatan/gifts).



> This was a prompt send to me by the wonderful hailhailsatan and was initially posted on tumblr.

Jaskier knew he was in trouble. 

Geralt had left two hours ago to take care of a nekker nest and because the bard had seen him fight nekkers at least a dozen times by now, he had opted out to stay at their campsite. Imagining a relaxed day, lounging on his bedroll in the sun and working on a song or two. 

But he couldn’t find his quill, even after he had emptied out all of his bags on the forest floor. Maybe it had gotten into one of Geralt’s bags?

The witcher had told him numerous times not to touch his stuff. “Don’t touch Roach”, “don’t touch my swords”, “don’t touch my clothes” and “don’t touch my bags”. And Jaskier tried. But it was hard for someone who liked to share everything. Not that he just took from others, he loved to share his belongings, a warm blanket on a cold evening, the dried fruit he had bought on the last market they visited or his lavender soap.

And Jaskier knew Geralt had good reasons to tell him not to go through his belongings. A few weeks ago Jaskier had been thirsty in the night. Standing up to walk to the nearby stream had felt too much of an effort, so he had rummaged around in Geralt’s bag for his water bottle and in the second he placed it on his lips, Gerlat, who had been asleep a moment ago, had slapped it out of his hands.

“The fuck, Jaskier”, Geralt had grumbled angrily, “what do you think you are doing?”

Confused the bard had replied, “I just wanted a sip of water.”

“That’s not water, you idiot, that is griffin decoction, one sip could kill you.”

Jaskier had just stared at the witcher with wide eyes, “I’m sorry, I thought…”

“Don’t think, ask me next time,” Geralt had growled.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Jaskier had said in a small voice. 

“You drinking poison and choking to death would definitely have bothered me more than you waking me for water. I told you not to touch my stuff,” the witcher had said, thrusting the actual water bottle in his hands.

But today Jaskier’s head was full of words and phrases and melodies he had to write down before they would escape. And for that he needed his quill. So he had very carefully opened one of Geralt’s bags, not reaching in, just looking. When he did not see a trace of a quill he moved on to the next bag. There was something silvery glittering in the morning light, just like the nib of his quill. Very carefully he reached in the bag, trying not to touch anything else. His hand closed around something he instantly knew was not his quill. But he had touched it already, so it wouldn’t hurt to have a look at it, would it now?

To his surprise Jaskier pulled a beautiful dagger out of the bag. The hilt lay comfortably in his hand as if it had been made for him, wrapped in soft leather for a better grip. The sheath was made of sturdy dark red leather with an intricate floral pattern. From farther away it would not stand out, would look nothing special, but Jaskier could see and feel that it was of high quality and only in close proximity did the floral pattern show it’s full beauty. Jaskier looked closely, carefully tracing the pattern with his finger and after a moment he was sure that it was a stylized depiction of buttercups. Very slowly he drew the dagger out, revealing a beautiful silver blade, reflecting the sun in his eyes. There were words carved into the blade. He angled the blade to have a better view and as his finger touched the gleaming silver to trace the words, the blade crumbled to dust - to his utter horror. 

He drew in a shaky breath as he watched the dust drift down and - caught by the wind - disappearing. His eyes were wide and his mouth formed a perfect o as the shock settled in. The knife looked to be expensive, probably custom made and he had just single handedly destroyed it with the touch of his finger. 

He was fucked. Jaskier knew Geralt would be furious. This was not an accident, but he had deliberately opened Geralt’s bags against his explicit command and touched one of his belongings, also against his explicit commands. 

Would this be the straw that broke the camel’s back? Would Geralt now send him away for good? Cold dread creeped down his neck. Should he put the hilt and sheath back into the bag and pretend nothing had happened? Should he tell Geralt directly at his arrival? Should he wait till Geralt was in a good mood? When was Geralt ever in a good mood? Fuck, fuck, fuck…

He stood petrified for a while, like a deer caught in headlights, not able to decide what to do.

Then he heard it, footsteps. Geralt was returning. Jaskier whirled around facing the witcher, hiding his hands with the evidence behind his back. He plastered on a (hopefully) cheery smile and said louder than intended, “Geralt, you are back early!”

“There were only a few nekkers,” the witcher replied, who was cleaner than expected after a fight.

Jaskier could practically feel the suspicious gaze burning on his skin as Geralt beheld his unusual arm positioning. The witcher narrowed his eyes, “what are you holding there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Jaskier stammered, “nothing of importance. Ahm, tell me everything about the fight, how many nekker were there?”

But Geralt was not distracted and just growled, “Jaskier…”

The bard started to sweat, “you know, it was not really my fault, I just had a teeny tiny look into your saddlebags…” his voice got quieter with every word, “and I might have…ahhhm, broke something…” He looked down, cheeks red.

The bard heard the witcher approach and breath in deeply. Now would be the moment he would tell him to pack his bags and leave, to never bother the witcher again. His stomach felt like it was clenched in a cold angry fist. 

But Geralt stayed silent and after a moment the bard looked up. He did not look particularly angry…not more than usual, and he had his head tilted. 

A moment later the witcher said, “it’s the dagger, isn’t it?” and turned away as if nothing had happened. Jaskier still did not move, looking at Geralt, who just went around camp in his usual after-fight-routine. Unstrapping his swords from his back and setting them down next to his bedroll, drinking a few gulps from his water bottle, cramming some dried meat in his mouth and getting a rag to clean off the few bits of nekker guts that had landed on his armour. 

Jaskier let his arms fall to the side and said, “aren’t you going to say anything? Yell at me?”

“You want me to yell at you?” Geralt asked.

“No, I’m…ahm… quite okay with not being yelled at.”

“It’s your birthday present you managed to destroy, so you should be the one angry,” the witcher said.

“What?” the bard’s mouth hung open and when Geralt raised an eyebrow at him he continued, “birthday present? But….I thought you didn’t know when my birthday is.” Geralt just stared at him. “You told me three times in the last month,” Geralt said, “I don’t forget that easily.”

Jaskier looked from Geralt to the hilt and sheath in his hands, eyes still wide and damper than a minute ago. “And you got me a present,” his voice was barely audible, “and I just broke it…”

With a sigh the witcher walked over. Jaskier could not bear to look him in the eyes, his own glued to the broken dagger. With the next breath he could barely suppress a sob. Geralt was in front of him and then Jaskier felt Geralt’s hand on his, the one holding the hilt and slowly lifting it. “Jaskier, look at me,” the witcher said softly.

Jaskier looked up and a single tear ran down his cheek. “Just take a deep breath,” Geralt said in his deep voice, “nothing is broken.”

Jaskier did as instructed and Geralt carried on, “you did not break the dagger. You demonstrated how well it works.” 

Jaskier’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “what…”

“I brought this dagger and asked Yen to put a defensive charm on it,” Geralt said, “ it can only be used by the ones I imprint on it, so it cannot be used against you in a fight if someone manages to take it.” Jaskier just looked at his witcher in awe. He had not expected the witcher to even remember his birthday let alone buy him a gift, especially not such a thoughtful, beautiful and expensive one. 

“I planned to give it to you on your birthday next week and to imprint it, so you can use it.” Geralt was still holding his hand and that was somehow grounding Jaskier.

“But…” he managed to say in a small voice, “I already broke it…”

“Yen thought about that, with a simple spell it can be revived,” Geralt said, “that is also how the imprint happens. It has to be broken to be imprinted on someone new.”

Geralt took the sheath from him and said, “put both of your hands around the hilt.” As Jaskier had done this, Geralt covered the bard’s hands with his. He breathed in deep and said a few words that sounded like elder speech, but Jaskier could not quite catch them. With a strong scent of magic small whirlwind started to dance above their hands and after a moment the silver blade was back, gleaming in the sun as if nothing had happened. Jaskier’s smile stretched from ear to ear. 

“Geralt, that’s amazing, I have to thank Yen as well!”

Geralt chuckled and slowly took his hands away from Jaskier’s. Then he had to take a few steps back because Jaskier swished the blade around a bit. With a cheeky smile the bard drew his hands with the blade carefully to his chest as if to hug the dagger. 

“Geralt, this is an absolutely amazing present, but wasn’t it… ahm … a bit too expensive?” He looked anxiously at the witcher.

“A cheap dagger would only cause more trouble than it would help,” Geralt grumbled, looking away from the cornflower blue eyes beaming at him. 

Jaskier took a few steps towards the witcher, took the sheath from his hands and pushed the blade safely back in. A moment later he threw his arms around Geralt’s shoulders, squeezing him tightly. After a moment Geralt sighed and also wrapped his arms around the bard and murmurd, “happy birthday, buttercup.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Find me on tumblr [EllieStormfound](https://elliestormfound.tumblr.com/)


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